Master of the Elements
by KamikazePenguin69
Summary: Tal Rasha, master of the elements, has been on the trail of an ancient evil for several months. Now, it all comes to a peak in the city of Caldeum.


Chapter 1

Caldeum was home to many fine taverns, and Emille prided himself in being the sole proprietor of one such tavern. In fact, as he was wont to say (ever so humbly of course): The Desert Rose was the finest of such locales. It was host to many of the city's best, both nobility and the...not so noble. Emille was regretting his welcoming personality this evening though. His latest patron was none other than a garishly clad _wizard_.

Wizards were a sorry lot, most of them at least. They were notoriously unstable, and rather fond of "showing off" their arcane talents, most of which were hogwash in Emille's personal opinion. Who cared about lighting candles across the room with a snap of your fingers or teleporting across the street? Just use a match or walk like a normal person, Emille would often proclaim to his handful of regulars near the bar.

This particular fellow stood out, even for a wizard. His robes were a brilliant shade of purple, a deplorable color that no self-respecting man should be seen in. He even wore a _mask,_ for the love of the Almighty. Covering the upper half of his face, the mask had a dash of the bastard's signature purple and curving gilded horns. Combined with his arcane source (a damned floating purple eye) everything combined to create a striking figure that clashed horribly against the muted browns and golds of the desert city.

Emille supressed a curse as the wizard looked up from the mug of chilled wine on the table before him. Before he could look away, the man noticed his scrutiny, and an almost sadistic smile appeared beneath the man's mask. Sweat beaded between the barkeep's collar, nothing to do with the heat unfortunately. The wizard was a nightmare, and that nightmare had a name: Tal Rasha.

"Master Emille?" Rasha called. The title sounded so derisive coming out of this purported 'Grandmaster Tal Rasha' as opposed to his kindly regulars. "I could have _sworn_ you said this vintage was a '47, no?"

"O-Of course it is, Grandmaster!" Emille stammered. The smile on the wizard's face receded into an almost characteristic smirk, no doubt internally revelling over the 'Grand' prefix he held over the barkeep. "I stock only the finest of the Tel'Euran wares. This particular bottle was gifted to me by a dear friend of mine, a merchant who travelled to the east purely for the wine itself." Too late, he realized that his guest's accent _was_ Tel'Euran. No doubt the wine was ordered wishing for a taste of home.

Tal Rasha raised his mug delicately, taking a long careful sip. After a few seconds, he swallowed and frowned. "This," he declared, pointing at the bottle "Is most certainly _not_ a '47 from the Al'Mazre vineyards. In fact," the mug hit the table with a loud thump. "This tastes an awful lot like the watered down swill they serve sailors in Port Tan'en. I would know, since I had the misfortune of being trapped in this aforementioned port for 2 months while my ship was laid up for repairs."

The muted conversations of the regulars had faded into silence. Several polite excuses were being made; men and women slipped out, taking care to avoid eye contact with either the wizard or his hapless barkeep. In moments, the Desert Rose was empty save for a handful of patrons either too drunk to realize the situation or too embarrassed to leave Emille alone. No one wanted to be around an angry wizard. Especially not an angry drunk wizard.

Tal Rasha sighed. "I suppose incompetence is always to be expected is it not? I will forgive you this folly, since it seems your dear friend was quite cruelly played by the markets of Tan'en. He would not be the first." Emille let out a sigh of relief, wiping his sweaty brow with the end of his billowing sleeve. The wizard's word's bit, but not near as bad as having fireballs thrown around in a drunken rage. Normal wizards were bad enough when they got drunk, he trembled to think of what a _grandmaster_ might do when incensed.

Whatever conversation that would have followed was shortly curtailed by the crash of the tavern door being thrown open. "Excuse m-" Emille cut his words off as he noticed the bright greens and navy blues of the uniforms on the men filling in. _Why are the royal guards here?_

The captain, adorned with gold epaulets, addressed the room. "Is the wizard Tal Rasha in this establishment?" He looked directly at the man himself, obviously recognizing him.

"Nope," The wizard drawled. "You just missed him. Bugger must have slipped past you on the street."

"You have been summoned to the court of Emperor Hakan. This is a great honor, your family should be proud." The announcement was made in an almost rote manner, offsetting whatever glorification the words attempted to give it.

"My family should be...proud." Rasha said in a deadpan tone of voice. "I'll be sure to pass that on to them next time I meet my deceased father for a cup of afternoon tea."

Shifting uncomfortably, the captain frowned. Clearly he figured Tal Rasha would be overawed. Emille felt the sweat start to trickly down his neck again. A drunk wizard was bad enough, but an altercation between said drunk and the Royal Guard was even worse. Emperor Hakan had ensured that his guard be equipped to deal with any threat they might face, including wizards. It was no secret that the armor was enchanted to repel virtually any magic attack. Arcane power just...fizzed out when it came into close proximity.

"This audience," The captain said hesitantly. "Is not one to be turned down." The men behind him shifted, hands going to curved swords at their hips. A muffled squeak escaped Emille, and the man slowly crouched down behind the bar, fearing the worse.

Tal sighed, putting the mug down regretfully. Despite his harsh words, the wine _was_ quite nice, if not fully the charming tang of Al'Mazre. Lazily he turned to fully face his "escort". It appeared the Emperor was quite aware of his activities, and now things would be coming to a peak much sooner than the wizard wished.

"You know," He drawled, standing up from the table. "There's always a bit of nonsense involved when regular men fight wizards. Superstition and far too much reliance on equipment you understand." Blades were starting to rasp free of their sheathes. "I could chuck any manner of arcane force, lightning, fire, even try and freeze the skin off your bones and that ridiculous looking armour of yours would turn every spell away like nothing. Unfortunately, magic can _cause_ quite a few things that don't really have anything magical about them."

Perhaps against a more competent group of men this boast would have lost Tal his life, but these were brutes just blindly doing what their master said.

Time seemed to slow down as the realization of the wizard's words flitted across the captain's face. Tal embraced Arcane, using it to lift three of the tables in front of him and hurl them full force through the crowd of men. Instantly the bar descended into a cacophony as armored men slammed into the walls behind them and the sounds of breaking bones mingled with the screams of pain. With a few more emphatic blows with telepathically controlled tables and chairs, Tal released his hold and stepped through the mess of groaning men.

"I suppose I will take that invitation though, hopefully the Emperor's wine cellar is well stocked. I do so hate being disappointed."


End file.
